Too Much Grief
by GreenLily474
Summary: Being a soldier, John has lost a lot of friends in his life. Sherlock was the first civilian friend he lost and the grief was almost to much. Just as the wounds are starting to heal, he learns that Sherlock did not actually die. How will he cope with this revelation?
1. Chapter 1

"John-"

"I don't understand," said John. He trembled violently as he stared around at the boxes. Those boxes didn't belong at 221B Baker Street. He sank to the floor.

"Let me explain," said Sherlock desperately. He couldn't let his friend ignore reality anymore. Doctors were ready to get court orders to have John committed. Sherlock wasn't going to let that happen and he certainly wasn't going to rely on Mycroft to prevent it.

Gladstone trotted cautiously into the room and put his head in John's lap. He let out a concerned whimper. John lightly stroked the bull pup's head. "Too much," he whispered. "It's just too much."

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHS

Two Years Earlier…

"Moriarty's gone," said Molly. "Why can't you tell the other's you're alive. They're devastated thinking you're dead."

"I have to make certain they're safe," said Sherlock.

"How could they possibly still be in any danger?"

"Moriarty shot himself to ensure I jumped. It's entirely possible he's somehow kept the assassins on the payroll. I need to find out every insurance measure he took."

"The assassins are all gone," Molly pleaded.

"So it would seem," said Sherlock. He twirled his magnifying glass in his fingers. "I have to be thorough on this."

"But-"

"Molly, there were snipers aiming at John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. If I reveal myself too soon they might pull the triggers. The only reason there wasn't a sniper aiming at you as well is because I didn't realize how much you mattered. I do now."

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

"You must be Mr. Wilson," Said Dr. John Watson as he entered the exam room. A nine year old boy sat on the exam table. The boy's hair was neatly combed and his clothes immaculately pressed. The boy coughed and smiled sheepishly.

"How long has your son had that cough?" John asked the woman sitting in the chair next to the table. She was wore a posh skirt and blouse. She'd taken off her high heels and was stretching her toes.

"Oh, I'm not his mother," she said.

John glanced at the chart. "I should really read these more closely," he said as he scratched the bridge of his nose. "Miss Morstan."

"Mary, call me Mary," She glanced at his name tag. "Dr. Watson."

"Um, John, you may call me John."

Mary nodded and smiled. "This is Daniel. He's had a cough for about five days and regular cough syrup isn't helping."

John took out his stethoscope. "Let me see if I can figure out a way to make it better. Can you take a deep breath for me, Daniel?" Daniel complied. "American?"

"Yes." said Mary. "He's the diplomat's son. I'm his private tutor while they're here."

"Well, welcome to England."

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

"I need to use the bathroom," Daniel whispered to Mary as they were about to leave the office.

"Alight, I'll wait here," she said. She leaned against the wall and clutched Daniel's prescription in her hands. John watched her thoughtfully from the next room.

"Oh, sod it!" he muttered to himself and marched over to her. "Miss Morstan?" Mary's eyes drifted up from her hands and met John's eyes. He stopped for a brief moment, taken aback as he noticed for the first time that they were blue…a very familiar shade of blue. He shook the troubling thought and swallowed.

"Mary," she said. "I told you it was okay to call me Mary."

"Mary," said John as he felt himself relax a bit. "Look, I know this may seem a bit forward, but would you like to have drinks with me sometime...tonight perhaps?"

Mary looked at him thoughtfully. While her eye color was familiar, the thoughtful glance she gave him was refreshingly lacking in shrewdness. "Do you know your way around London very well, John?" She asked.

"I imagine I do, why?"

"Because I don't," said Mary with a grin.

Shshshshshsh.

Author's note: I'm an American who's addicted to the BBC series. I made Mary American because having her be a private tutor to a diplomat's kid is the closest I could think to a modern equivalent to a governess. That and Irene Adler was British on the BBC series so I'm balancing things out, Although it will be revealed in future chapters that Mary's father was from London and that's why she took the tutor job. If anyone from England wants to Brit pick this story, I'm open to help and would be grateful for it.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock covered a sleeping Molly with a blanket. Jim Moriarty had succeeded in showing him he, Sherlock Holmes had a heart. It was a dreadful distraction to his work. He could have easily solved the problem of revealing to the world that he was in fact still alive if he weren't so distracted in caring about the safety John Watson, Mrs. Hudson, Greg Lestrade, and Molly Hooper. Sherlock felt completely annoyed with himself for caring so much, but could not ignore it any longer.

Jim Moriarty had figured things out about Sherlock that he himself did not know. He knew that John Watson was Sherlock's greatest source of strength and his greatest weakness. From the moment John first walked into the laboratory, Sherlock wanted him around. Sherlock had been a lonely person most of his life, though he didn't mind as most people annoyed him. John Watson actually made him laugh. Sherlock couldn't recall a time in his life laughing before he met John Watson. He hadn't laughed since faking his death to protect his friends. He never thought that anyone or anything would matter to him more than showing the world how clever he was, but at least four people did.

Shshshshshshshshshshshshshsh shshshshshsh

John awoke in an unfamiliar posh little flat with a dreadful hangover. His stomach dropped as the events of the previous night swam into his memory.

"Look who's decided to join the world of the living," said Mary. A startled John looked over to see her curled up in a chair reading a tattered old book.

"Mary, I-what am I doing here?" John felt paralyzed from the waist down. Mary casually flipped the page.

"You weren't in the best of shape last night and I don't know where you live. Besides, I promised your friend Greg I'd keep you out of trouble. He's trying to sort a few things out."

"I so sorry, that should never have happened. I just-" John trailed off. Mary propped her elbows on her knees, rested her chin on her folded hands and gazed at John thoughtfully for a moment. She then set her book down and hopped out of her chair.

"I'll get you some aspirin and tomato juice."

"Tomato juice."

"I don't know about here, but it's a very popular menu item New Years Day Stateside." Mary called over her shoulder. She returned with a small glass of the red liquid and a couple aspirin, handed them to John, and perched on the side of the bed.

"You take home many completely insane drunk blokes?"

"I don't take any 'completely insane drunk blokes' back to my place."

"So what am I doing here, then?" asked John as he took a sip of the tomato juice and wrinkled his nose. Mary looked away briefly then turned back. She looked directly into John's eyes and put her hand gently on his. He tensed and started to pull away, but quickly relaxed.

"John, between Iraq and Afghanistan I've lost both parents, a brother, a fiancée and several friends. I know grief when I see it."

John swallowed. He felt his chest tighten. It wasn't just Mary's eyes that reminded him of Sherlock. She was able to deduce things about him too, but for completely different reasons. "You've lost a lot people…that must be terrible."

"It was years ago, but it still hurt. I guess it's part of the reason I took this job. My dad was British. He was born here."

"Was he?"

"Yes. He went to the States for college, met mom, got married, had a couple kids, joined the army, and were killed in action on some top secret mission in 2004."

"Mary, I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"How could you?"

"You figured me out?"

"_You_ got into a drunken brawl last night."

"Fair point."

"So who do you lose? A fellow soldier?"

"Several actually, but it was my old flat mate, Sherlock who was the most recent. I watched him jump off a roof and couldn't do anything to save him."

"When-" Mary started to ask, but a loud obnoxious knock at the flat door rudely interrupted her. A Bull pup ran from around the bed and started barking. "Ssshhh, Gladestone, it's just the uptight old bat. I'll be right back, John."

Mary opened the door. A severe looking middle aged woman with her hair pulled in a tight bun stood on the other side. She worn a ghastly amount of make-up that made her barely distinguishable from a clown in John's opinion. She was dressed in a bulky red lady's suit and wore pearl earrings and a necklace.

"RICHARD!" she shrieked. Mary casually rubbed her ear.

"He's not here, Laura," said Mary in an exasperated voice. "He never has been and he never will be." Mary opened the door wider to show Laura Wilson that her husband was not in the flat. Laura sniffed the air and her beady eyes darted around the room eventually landing on John.

"Who's that?" she asked.

Mary held her hand up to John to signal him to stay in bed. "He's Dr. John Watson, my date."

"Oh," said Laura relaxing a little. "Well, um, how is Daniel doing on his school work?"

"He's ahead of schedule, actually."

"Good," said Laura curtly. She turned and left. Mary shut the door and leaned against it with her back. She stared at the ceiling and closed her eyes for a minute then walked back to John and sat next to him on the bed.

"Would it be at all wise to ask what that was all about?" asked John.

Mary shrugged. "She seems to think her husband's having an affair with me."

"Which you clearly aren't."

"Married men aren't really my type," said Mary. "And Richard Wilson isn't the sort of man I'd be attracted to even if he were single."

"Does he have affairs?"

"He's a very vocal champion for 'traditional family values' of course he has affairs. I've been suspecting he got me Gladstone as a gift to throw his wife off the scent of whoever he actually is screwing."

"Ah," said John starting to smile in spite of himself. "Sounds like a real winner."

"He really is," said Mary dryly. "Poor Daniel, he's a good kid….So tell me about Sherlock."

"He was brilliant," said John. "He was the closest friend I ever had, though I fought the urge to punch him in the face on a daily basis." John found himself really talking about Sherlock for the first time since he and Mrs. Hudson has visited the grave. He told Mary everything from Sherlock being about to deduce his military service and his strained relationship with Harry the day they met to Sherlock claiming it had all been fake and jumping off the roof of St. Bartholomew's.

"It's strange, Mary, but your eyes are almost exactly like his. Last night, the way you looked at me just reminded me of Sherlock."

"Oh."

"We weren't a couple or anything," said John hastily.

"I never said you were," said Mary with a grin. "Did people assume that or something?"

"More often than not, it seemed," said John. He shifted in the bed and his cheeks flushed as he realized he could feel the sheets against his bare legs. "Did you take off my trousers?"

Mary smirked. "You spilled beer all over them," she said with a mock defensive tone. "I had to air them out." She leaned closer to him so that her arm brushed his and their faces were less than an inch from one another. "I really did enjoy myself most of last night."

"So did I," said John. He brushed her hair off her shoulder and pressed his lips to hers, a gesture she returned.


End file.
